Shift
by UpstairsMind
Summary: He caught a flash of yellow, and saw the shadows dance as something moved swiftly across the room. He could hear a soft panting. It was in the room with him. It was hunting him.
1. Cry Wolf

_I've decided to rewrite this story, because well, it needs reworking. I've finally decided on a direction to take this (honestly, the first nudge in this direction was from cuddygirl18, so much kudos to you, thank you)! It will have all new elements, and a fresh take on werewolves, but nothing too wild, just my take on things! So I hope all you readers will enjoy the new take, and all you new readers will enjoy it too! 3 Upstairs!_

_Sam- 17._

_Dean- 21._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the boys, I just enjoy dressing them up and forcing them to do my will. D_

_xOxOxOx_

Sam sat in the backseat, his hand on his right knee, his leg jittering nervously up and down. He flicked his bangs out of his eyes, glancing out the window at the dark countryside. Trees zoomed by, the saucer moon high in the sky, and he caught the flare of a deer's eyes in the headlights as they sped past.

He glanced up at Dean, who'd peered back, as if to check on him. Seeing Dean's eyebrows crease together, he realized his hazel eyes must be wide open, his mouth pursed. Sam gave him a shaky smile, trying to reassure his older brother, who watched Sam for another moment, then reached back and gave Sam a friendly slap on the leg before turning back in his seat.

Sam let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. It wasn't that he was scared… well… yeah, he was. It was his first real hunt. What if he messed up? What if it got him? Or worse, Dean or Dad? He wanted to be on this hunt—hell, he'd gone to his knees begging—but there was just so much that could go wrong, Dean or Dad could di—no, no, it'd be fine. It'd be fine.

He was talking about Dean and Dad after all, the two best hunters out there. They'd kill it. Then they'd go home, order a pizza, he and Dean would fight over the second bed, Dean would lose—give in, but he wouldn't let Dean know that he knew that—and Dean would sleep on the couch while he fake-gloated over having the bed all to himself. It'd be fine.

He looked up, catching John's flint grey eyes gazing at him in the rearview. John glanced back at Sam. "You okay boy?"

Sam gave John a half-smile. "Yeah. Just wondering when we'll get that wolf skin rug," he supplied half-heartedly. Dean grinned at Sam through the mirror, and suddenly Sam felt more optimistic. Yeah, this hunt would be just fine.

_xOxOxOx_

_And onward the story shall plunge…._


	2. Loup Garou

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, nor the four Jared Padalecki's I once dreamed about._

_I be beta-less, so play nice! And fff, I'm not comfortable with using God's name in vain, but anything else just doesn't seem quite right for this chapter._

_xOxOxOx_

The car shuttered to a halt somewhere off-road, an eerie looking rundown cabin visible through the dead trees. The Winchester family got out silently, the only sound the creak of the doors. John popped the trunk, glancing over his shoulder at the house sitting quietly quite a ways away. Dean's hand immediately found its way to his Glock, and began loading it with silver bullets. John, on the other hand, picked up the Colt 1911.

Sam hesitated, then grabbed the Taurus, checking the safety before he reached for a handful of silver bullets, fumbling as he loaded them. When he glanced up, Dean and John were already heading towards the house. Dean looked over his shoulder, then waved at Sam. _Get the lead out Sammy! _

Sam shut the trunk, wincing as it slammed, then scrambled after Dean and John, his longs limbs catching up. He fell into line behind Dean, and adjusted his grip on the Taurus, swiveling so he could watch their tail.

Eventually they reached the dilapidated house, and John cautiously led the way, testing the rotting floor boards as he climbed onto the porch. Setting his hand on the doorknob, he turned it slowly, then flung the door open, immediately scanning the room, flashlight and gun in hand.

Then John nodded, dropping the gun a bit.

"Sam, first floor. Dean, upstairs. I'll check the attic."

Sam nodded and gripped his handgun tighter, unclicking the safety. This was the first time John had let him and Dean split up, and he could feel a cold sweat breaking out. This was it. A feeling of dread crept up his spine as he watched his brother and dad disappear upstairs. He wanted to run up after them, to have someone making sure he didn't get his ass kicked, but he set his jaw and headed for the back room. He'd start there.

He swept the room quietly and efficiently, flashlight over gun in the same formation John had taught them. Cobweb, cobweb, cobweb, rat…. Rat!

"Eurgh!" Sam jumped as the creature scuttled over the toe of his boot, chattering and hissing harshly as Sam aimed a kick at the thing. Gross.

Deciding that there wasn't much else in the room besides Mr. Rabid and maybe a few cockroaches, Sam ducked down out of the low doorway and back into the hallway.

He slowly approached a white swinging door, and put out his free hand, nudging it open, slivers of peeling paint floating down to the ground.

He tentatively poked his head into the room, and as first visual sweep revealed no threats, entered the rest of the way.

It was obviously the kitchen, the rusting appliances, rotting table, and moth-eaten lace curtains made it apparent.

Sam padded over to the fridge, peeking inside it. Nothing. Now he just felt silly for checking in the first place.

Sam kneeled down, shuffling over to the cupboard underneath the sink, and opened a door to peer in.

A guttural snarl made him freeze, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. _Crapcrapcrapcrap._ He bit his lip, eyes closing for a moment, then spun on his heel, gun at eyelevel, ready to aim and fire. His eyes didn't pick anything up as they adjusted to the sudden change in view.

Then it came again, from a different direction this time, near the back door. It echoed, more thunderous than before.

Sam's breath caught raggedly in his throat, his eyes wide in desperation as he tried to pick up where the sound was coming from. A low rumble from near the swinging door made him spin again, the growl sliding up in octaves to a sort of howl.

He caught a flash of yellow, and saw the shadows dance as something moved inhumanly swift across the room.

He could hear a soft panting. _Oh God._

It was in the room with him. _Dean._

It was hunting him. _I'm in big trouble._


	3. Werewolf Weather

_Author's Note: Fweee, chapter three! And guess what guys? I have a third of this story planned out! Which is actually shaping up to be a longass story. Weird. But I'm happy with the direction it's taking. C: Thanks so much for all the support! As usual, I don't own the boys, just playing in their sandbox!_

_Before I let you read though, I thought I'd post a little teaser, and let you know three of the planned guest stars (which is a bigass list, but you only get three for now)!_

_Bobby, Ava, Gordon, and Meg._

_Okay. I lied teehee. That was four. But I have bad news for Cas Girls. I don't plan on having him in this story. Love him, but he would throw off the feel I'm trying to achieve._

_xOxOxOx_

All the breath was sucked out of him as the creature slammed into him. Sam fell heavily, winded, out of breath, and panting as the werewolf darted back into the shadows.

"De'n," he croaked, trying to call out to his brother, his voice no more than a wheeze. But he was cut off as the wolf pounced on him, trying to bury its ragged claws into his shoulders; it missed as Sam scrambled away, and the claws lodged into wood where his thrumming arteries had been a second before.

There was a snarl of rage as it ripped its claws out the door, the glint of golden eyes and then the wolf attacked once more, bearing down on Sam like a hurricane. Sam skittered back, but it pinned him to the ground and dived for his neck.

Teeth began to clamp down around his jugular and Sam kicked at the heavy body vainly.

There was an unexpected crack and the werewolf was suddenly dead weight, smothering Sam in a tangle of limbs.

"Sam!"

Then the weight was pulled off of him and Sam was yanked into a crushing embrace that only lasted a half a second, before he was held out and inspected by worried eyes. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Sam blinked rapidly at the sudden succession of events. Then he shook his head, his hand going back to rub at his neck. He let out a sigh as he found that the wolf's teeth hadn't broken skin. "Yeah, 'm fine."

Dean let out a breath, pushing himself to his feet.

There was a loud thumping then John dashed into the kitchen, looking flustered.

"What happened?" he demanded. "I heard shots."

Sam glanced over at John, terrified. Oh man. Oh man. Dad was going to kill him. He opened his mouth to stutter an explanation—

"Sam killed his first werewolf."

Sam gaped dumbly at Dean, who caught his eye and gave him a warning glare. Sam slammed his mouth shut, his eyes flickering from Dean to their dad.

John looked over at Sam. "Is this true?"

Sam glanced at Dean one more time, who still had the warning look in his eyes, and nodded, swallowing.

John broke into a grin. "Well, I never would've guessed." He strode across the kitchen, kneeling next to the corpse. After determining it was kaput for good, he stood up, clapping Sam on the shoulder with a warm smile. "Well done son. We'll make a Winchester out of you yet. Now come on. We'll burn the body then get the hell out of Dodge." John exited the kitchen, presumably to get the salt and gasoline required to burn the carcass.

Sam's face burned hot. It was bad enough he'd nearly gotten himself killed, now Dad was praising him for nearly screwing up the whole hunt?

Dean, who'd taken John's lead and headed towards the door, turned as he heard Sam speak.

"Why did you do that Dean?" Sam asked quietly, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

Dean pursed his lips. "Cause Dad would have never let you come on another hunt if I hadn't." As if that settled the matter, Dean turned away, continuing out into the hall. Sam followed him.

"Dean… you can't always protect me. I gotta take the heat every now and then—"

Dean stopped, letting out a breathy sigh, before turning to face his tall-as-him little brother. "Sam, enough. I'm not talking about this anymore." He turned, doubling his pace out the door of the house.

Sam easily caught up with him, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and whirling him around. "Dean, I mean it! I'm not going to let you make me look like the hero when I nearly screwed up the whole hunt!"

Dean stared levelly at Sam, his teeth playing with his lower lip before he shook his head. "Do you really want to have to deal with Dad and the aftermath of the truth? Cause I sure as hell don't. Sam, I told you, enough. It's dead, it's buried, and I'm done discussing it." He turned, marching off after their father.

Sam watched his brother walk off, his brow creased in frustration. He blew out a breath, glancing towards the sky and the shimmering stars and full moon. Sam shook his head. "Dammit Dean."

He followed his brother and father, unaware of the droplet of blood oozing out a small puncture wound on his neck.


	4. Bad Moon Rising

Hey y'all. So it's been forever since I updated this. Sorry about that. Got hit with a bout of laziness this year and more recently, depression. Watched some of Season 1 tonight and that seemed to remedy it, so I whipped this up.

I don't know about you guys, but I was extremely impressed with Colin's performance in 7x03 and now I'm even more in love with the kid. He's such a perfect mini-Sam! And totally only a year younger than me heehee. So anyway, I thought I'd inform you that this Sam is somewhat of a blend of College!Sam and Colin!Sam. So not quite the Sam we see in Pilot, but not the Sam in 7x03 either. Caught somewhere in that awkward teenage stage.

Reviews are much appreciated and keep me going.

xoxoxo

"Bottles up to a job well done boys." John lifted his beer upwards in a hunter's homage to the conclusion of another hunt. He gave them a rare smile, holding out his bottle and Dean grinned in return, clinking his in as well. Sam finally caved into the cliché gesture, and added his Coke bottle to the fray of jingling glass. As vexed as he was that Dean had covered for him, he wasn't going to ruin the moment of peace, as it was unlikely it would happen again anytime soon.

John tilted his bottle to his lips, taking a drink of the amber liquid inside. He glanced over at Sam. "You did good tonight Sam."

Sam felt his throat tighten. It was John's way of saying he was proud of him, without y'know, saying it. Because God forbid a Winchester actually said how he felt. Sam stared down at the sticky vinyl table, trying to keep the extremely unhappy frown off his face. " Wasn't anything," he mumbled. Because it wasn't. He was a sucky son and a sucky brother. Just suckish all around.

John frowned, glancing over at Dean. He'd obviously expected the barely hidden dimples that graced the youngest Winchester's face whenever he was pleased with something. Not the soured face he'd received when he'd told Sam he couldn't go on the school field trip to D.C, or the one that had been plastered on his face for an entire month after he'd made Sam take the dog he'd found to the pound.

Dean shrugged, pulling his "hell if I know" face. _Teenagers_, he mouthed to their father before returning to perusing the menu. John huffed, and took another drink of his beer.

Sam glowered at his brother. Stop covering up for him dammit. Dean obviously felt the bitch-face locked and loaded onto him because his hand slowly drifted from beneath the menu in a one-fingered salute. He smirked at Sam. _Get over it bitch._ Sam's scowl deepened and he stuck out his tongue defiantly. _No._

John didn't notice the pair's antics, too busy try to wave down one of the waitresses.

Sam rolled his eyes once more and buried his face behind the menu, staring down the entrée list instead. He hadn't given much thought into what he wanted. He frowned, gazing over the menu, eyes flicking to the salad list out of habit. He found his eyes moving to the sandwich list instead, fixated on the pictures of the hamburgers. He tilted his head dubiously. He didn't even like hamburgers that much. They were too… too everything. But he supposed one every once in a while wouldn't hurt. His stomach gave a sharp whine. He could tell it wasn't going to be appeased by just salad. It was craving hamburger.

He sighed, setting down the menu. Eh, he'd just pin it down to some sort of weird teenage hormonal imbalance or something. He supposed it wasn't that unusual for boys his age to crave a good hamburger once in a while, right?

Sam looked up to find that John had finally lassoed a waitress by way of charming smile and handsomely husky voice. The girl was skittish though—it was hard to tell whether it was the fact that both John and Dean had their winning grins out, or because she was just people-shy.

"Double cheeseburger with fries." John gave the boys pointed but amused looks. _Hurry and order now before she bolts._

Dean laughed a silent laugh, the toothy white grin making the girl blush. "I'll have a cheeseburger with onions and fries. Oh, and pie. I love pie." He smiled cheekily at her.

She turned to Sam almost immediately, blushing furiously and shying away from the lady-killer expression. "And you?" Her voice came out a squeak, and he held back a chuckle, biting the inside of his mouth in a lopsided grin. To his surprise, this made her try to hide nonchalantly behind her writing pad. He saw Dean wink at him from out of the corner of his eyes, and he rolled them. "Uhh, I'll have a… triple bacon cheeseburger. And fries. And a shake?"

Wow. He wasn't quite sure where _that_ came from.

The other two Winchesters apparently weren't either, because they almost did double-takes.

Once the woman had dashed off—which happened fairly quickly—Dean turned to Sam. "I take it you're hungry then?"

"Uh…"

Dean broke into another grin, reaching over and clapping Sam on the shoulder. "Welcome to the Dark Side brother. I knew you'd finally grow out of that rabbit food stage."

Sam didn't say anything, just looked away, a bit perplexed. Why he'd ordered that, he didn't know. But something didn't quite feel right. He didn't like it.

A waitress finally reappeared, setting down their food. She grinned broadly at them, giving Dean a wink. "Enjoy." Skittish had obviously gotten a friend to replace her, someone more interested in hitting up cute guys.

Sam tried to be casual about it. He really did. But within a few seconds of the plate being set down, he had then hamburger in hand and was sinking his teeth into it. God. So good. He was suddenly aware of his father and brother's eyes one him and he quickly set down the burger, reaching self-consciously to take a drink of the shake instead. What were they staring at? It wasn't like they said grace or anything. Well except for that time Dean had been sure the diner was haunted and had insisted. But that was a Latin exorcism at any rate.

He fiddled with the shake for a short while, starving to have another bite of the hamburger, but reluctant to draw attention to himself again. Finally, John and Dean turned their full attention to the food, and Sam was able to pick the burger up again. He ate more carefully this time though, trying not to eat too fast.

But his dinner was pretty soon gone, before Dean and John had even finished, and he sat twirling the straw around in the malt glass. Something was off. He was still hungry. Still wanted more to eat. Wanted another hamburger. More meat. More….

Sam stiffened in fear, suddenly aware of the pulsing sound in his ears. It sounded like… a heartbeat? Was he that antsy? Or was that triple bacon cheeseburger just giving him heart palpitations. God he'd always said they'd be the death of Dean but certainly not the death of him I mean come on he rarely ate them and he always ate healthy and worked out and he was too young to be having a heart attack wasn't he and—no. No. He furrowed his brow, frowning intensely. It wasn't his. It was coming from… Dean?

Sam stood up, his knees thumping painfully on the table edge. "Bathroom," he gritted out through the sting of pain before loping off and skidding round the tiled corner into the single-occupant bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him. He leaned on it for a long minute, trying to steady his breathing before moving over to the grimy yellow sink. He turned on the thin trickle of water, cupping his hands and splashing it over his face, running a large hand through his hair.

His eyes flickered upwards, and he gazed at the mirror, whites of his eyes showing prominently. He swallowed, his stomach suddenly feeling like it was full of lead.

Something was wrong. Really wrong.


End file.
